Vanity
by gingergen
Summary: Nessa Cousland and Zevran have gotten into a spot of trouble after an otherwise ordinary fight. Rated T for poison and because Zevran is... well, Zevran. One off.


_A preview of the Cousland post-Origins fic I'm working on... _

_Some fantastic days, the writing just flows. This scene was one of those times. It works apart from the larger story - all you need to know is that there has been a fight. Enjoy!_

* * *

Nessa wiped her sword clean on the dead man's shirt. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Zevran stumble.

"Zev?" she asked. "What is it?"

The elf had a hand clasped tightly to his side, not quite successfully covering a growing red stain on his shirt. "My vanity. I do believe it has been struck a fatal blow."

"I don't think vanity bleeds, Zevran," countered Nessa, scooping up her pack as she headed towards him. She dropped it at his feet, yanked open the ties, and pulled out the first aid kit before kneeling beside him and tugging gently at his shirt. "Let me see."

He carefully eased his hand away and pulled up his reddened shirt. A long shallow slice curved from his lower back up to his side.

"Dagger?" she asked, reaching for a clean cloth. "You really need to do a better job watching your back, assassin."

"Well," he countered, sounding a bit breathless, "on occasion it is difficult to keep track of both our backs at the same time."

She shot him a dirty look and began wiping away some of the blood.

"You charge into battle like a mother bear," he pointed out. "Nary a thought for what might be around you." He hissed through his teeth as the cloth caught. "Fortunately for me, it's a beautiful back. Watching it gives me great pleasure."

"You are impossible," she said automatically, still probing the cut. "I don't like how this looks. It's clotting oddly and starting to swell. I wish Wynne were here."

"There's poison, I think," he said, lightly sniffing the fingers that had been holding his side. He touched one quickly and delicately to his tongue. "Hmm. Bring me my kit?"

Nessa lurched to her feet swearing, grabbed Zevran's pack and dug into it for the padded leather wallet that held the tools of an assassin's trade.

"Be gentle with that," he interjected. "Break any of those bottles and we'll both be poisoned. Hand it here."

He took the pack gently from her and untied the complex-looking knots with one hand. He folded back several layers of wool padding to reveal a set of tiny bottles, each carefully nestled in their own leather pocket and marked with a different colored rune. "What were you saying? Ah, yes, Wynne. I miss her too. Many are the nights I have cried into my pillow longing for her magical bosom."

His expression didn't match his lighthearted tone as his fingers hovered over the little vials, and he selected two before tucking back the wool and wrapping the wallet up securely.

"How comforted I would be to shed my lonely tears upon it this very moment," he continued as he gingerly knelt down and slid the wallet back into his pack. "But as she is not here, I suppose we must do without." He added in a different tone, "I need you to wash out the wound with spirits, as it will be difficult for me to reach."

Nessa grimaced sympathetically as she reached in the kit for the bottle. "This is going to hurt like dragon fire."

Zevran's lips twitched slightly. "I know." He pulled his shirt off carefully, and leaned forward to keep the liquid from running into the waistband of his pants. Nessa held the bloodstained cloth below the wound to control the flow and poured. He didn't make a sound as she drenched the whole area, though he panted slightly. Sweat was beginning to bead on his brow.

"Now," he grunted, handing her a vial, "three drops of this into a cup of water, and wash it again. Quickly as you can. I may..." and he stopped to grimace. "There's a chance I will be sick." Nessa couldn't tell if his pained expression was nausea or embarrassment.

"I'll try to wait until you've finished bandaging," he continued while she created the washing solution, "but you should be prepared. And perhaps you should take this so I don't break it," he said, handing her the second vial. "Don't lose it, don't put it somewhere it will get stepped on, and DON'T get confused about which vial is which."

That was the moment Nessa started to worry. Zevran never let anyone handle his tools, ever, to say nothing of his precious vials of presumably deadly and priceless fluids. Now he was voluntarily handing them over? He was in worse shape than she'd realized. She carefully set the bottle with the orange rune on the other side of his pack, a careful distance away from the green one, and began to wash out the gash a second time.

He almost made it, but not quite. Nessa had finished the cleaning, and was unfolding a new piece of cloth to create a bandage when the elf dropped to his hands and lost his breakfast in the grass.

"Sorry," he panted after, not looking at her. He slowly sat back onto his heels, and Nessa handed him her water flask.

"What's a little vomit between friends? Especially after everything we've been through," she said soothingly. But her insides were going cold with tension; Zevran was pale beneath his tan, and he was drenched in sweat. And he was still holding the flask as if uncertain what to do with it. "That's plain water, safe to drink," she told him gently.

He nodded and washed out his mouth. Nessa bandaged his side and helped him slide on a clean shirt.

He held out a shaking hand. "Orange rune," he said roughly. She retrieved the bottle quickly, and passed it over.

"This will knock me out for some time, while my body processes the the poison we couldn't wash away. I'll only have a minute or so to get settled, so be thinking about where you want me." A ghost of a smile crossed his lips as pulled out the cork and wiped the tip his finger across its underside. "Promise not to take advantage of me until I'm conscious. I should deeply regret to miss it." He slid the finger across his tongue, sucking carefully. Deliberately, he used his clean fingers to re-cork the bottle before lurching unsteadily to his feet. Nessa took his arm and led him to a tree a few feet away, unfolded her cloak for a blanket, and helped settle him down onto it.

"Leave bottles... put them away myself. Dangerous," he murmured with closed eyes.

"I won't touch them," she promised.

He didn't move. In fact, he didn't move again for several hours. It gave Nessa a lot of time to think.

* * *

Nessa had started a small fire, and was making fry bread. She was afraid to leave the sleeping elf, so hunting or foraging for food was out. She'd combined flour and water from her flask, heated a bit of their precious supply of lard in the spider pan over the flames, and poured the thin dough on top of it. She was re-corking and wrapping the lard jar when she finally heard movement.

"Is that bread I smell?" Zevran's voice was husky from his long sleep.

Nessa stowed away the jar in her pack and went to sit on her heels beside him. "It is. Do you feel like you could eat something?"

"Perhaps? I believe I should at least try," he grunted, trying to sit upright.

Nessa helped him up. "How are you feeling?"

"As hungover as if I'd been drinking from Oghren's stash. An opportunity I'm happy to say I passed up when I had the chance."

"Ugh," she said sympathetically. "I'd better check on your bandage."

"Best not to unwrap it just yet," he cautioned.

She nodded. "Let me just make sure everything's in the right place. I'm better at causing injuries than caring for them." She pulled gently at his shirt, and he winced as it caught on the wrappings. "Sorry," she murmured, "and sorry my hands are so cold." She pushed gently at the edges of the bandage with her fingertips, then frowned and cautiously laid her wrist against his back. "Everything's in place… but you're burning up."

"So is the bread," he observed.

"Blast!" She jumped up and snatched at the fork beside the fire, poking into the bread and turning it over. She frowned at it. "I think it will be edible. We had worse when Alistair was cooking."

Zevran shuddered delicately, then winced. "Don't remind me."

After giving it a few seconds for the top to set and brown slightly, Nessa flipped the bread out onto one of their tin dishes. She tended the remaining batter with more care. Once it was all cooked, she cut the bread into slices and joined Zevran on her cloak for a quick meal, eating together out of the single dish to save on washing. She took the burned pieces for herself, but couldn't help noticing that Zevran addressed himself to the food more like a man who knew he ought to eat than one who was hungry.

By the time they finished, she thought his color was better. She piled some of their extra clothing on top of him with instructions to bundle up, and went off to wash the plate in the nearby stream. She wiped out the spider pan and put everything away before coming back to rejoin him on her cloak.

Zevran had tidied up his potions kit and was examining his torn shirt.

"It's definitely dead," he said mournfully.

"Your shirt?" asked Nessa.

"My vanity," he sighed.

Nessa pursed her lips. She wanted to smack him. Instead, she found herself trying not to laugh.

"I don't see how you can be so heartless," he continued pitifully. "This is a very serious situation." She began to giggle.

"It is!" he insisted. "I have torn my shirt, disgraced myself in battle, been sick before a beautiful woman, allowed myself to be poisoned both accidentally and deliberately, and then, to add insult to injury, the beautiful woman didn't even take the trouble to ravish me while I was out cold."

Nessa hiccoughed.

"Then, I pour my heart out to her in the hopes of sympathy, and she only sees fit to laugh at me." He shook his head sadly. "The world is indeed cruel."

She flopped down beside him and wiped the tears from her face as a few last gurgles of laughter popped out. He smiled down at her, pleased with himself.

Eventually she pulled herself together enough to sit up beside him. "In all seriousness, Zev. I was really worried. I fight in armor so people can't stick me with a poisoned dagger. Watch your own damn back." She poked him in the chest. "Don't force me to go back to giving you orders."

He grinned delightedly and opened his mouth to retort.

She quickly said, "Shut up," and pulled him into a hug. He chuckled into her ear and hugged her back.

"And if you say a WORD about my breasts I will find that dagger and stab you again myself."


End file.
